


is this what dying feels like?

by trashm0uth



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Violence, dying, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25374298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashm0uth/pseuds/trashm0uth
Summary: Ethan accidentally calls mark instead of the suicide hotline.A rework of “Miscommunication In Crisis” by whereyoustand
Relationships: In a platonic way - Relationship, Mark Fischbach/Amy Nelson, Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 302





	is this what dying feels like?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Miscommunication In Crisis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23807893) by [whereyoustand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereyoustand/pseuds/whereyoustand). 



> I just felt angsty today and have been binge watching Unus Annus

It was an understatement to say Mark was irritated that Ethan was calling him at 3:34 in the morning. But he picked up nonetheless, fearing Ethan was in danger. 

“Hello?” Mark mumbled, walking into the living room. 

“Should I call 911?” Ethan asked. Mark was taken by surprise when Ethan asked this, and he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Depends on the circumstances,” Mark answered matter of factly. There seemed to be a harsh breath on the other line. 

“Well, first off, it’s been a while since I’ve called your hotline,” Ethan spoke in a flat tone, although his voice was a bit shaky as if he had been crying. It shook when he said the word ‘hotline’. 

Wait.

Hotline? 

That’s not right. Ethan called Mark, not whatever hotline he was attempting to reach.

“What seems to be the issue?” Mark felt a stone of dread growing in his stomach. He knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know what else to do other than play along as a hotline operator. 

Silence, then a shaky breath. 

“Well, um, I was in the process of s-s-sli—” Ethan can’t get the word out, as he begins to stutter. The dreadful stone in Mark’s stomach grows larger. 

A sob, then a sort of ...pained… noise? 

“I was in the process of slitting m-my wrists.” 

The stone dropped. Mark’s entire bloodstream seemed to freeze with the words that came out of his best friend’s mouth. Mark went silent, tears welling up in his eyes, sweat beading at the edge of his temple and inner palms. 

Mark muted his end on the phone call so Ethan wouldn’t hear him. Mark shuffled into his and Amy’s bedroom as he shook her gently awake, phone still in hand. 

“What? What’s going on?” Amy asked groggily.

“Ethan is in danger. I’m going to his place now. Please just call 911 if I text you to,” Mark urgently explained. Amy sat bolt upright as she nodded.

Mark made his way to the car as Ethan started talking again. 

“Well, I’m pretty much a fucking disappointment. I have friends, but I don’t deserve them. I hate myself nearly every day, and death sounds like one of the best things I’ve ever fucking heard right now.” 

The stone dropped even further.

“Anyways, after I was done filling the bathtub with water, and, you know, slitting my… the… wrists… I sat in the bathtub… for a while… and everything got… is getting dark. And I called the number for the hot… line as I did… as I wrist slitted, or whatever, and I don’t know what to do… now. Is this dying? Am… Am I finally dying?” 

Ethan’s speech was beginning to sound incoherent and slurred. He paused irregularly as he mumbled, as if forgetting he was talking at all. His breathing was getting faster and shallower, then slower and deeper. 

Mark sped as fast as he could to Ethan’s house as he listened to his friend mumble dying words on the other line. 

Mark texted Amy that she needed to call 911.

He reassured Ethan that everything was going to be alright.

Then something Ethan said amidst the jumble of death vomit caught Mark’s attention.

“I wonder why… I’m not seeing anything. Flashbacks… shouldn’t I… be seeing flashbacks? Of happiness or sadness… or something in my life… that meant something… why am I seeing nothingness?”

“Ethan, are you too weak to stand, or at least move your arms?”

Silence, then the sound of someone spitting.

“Ethan?” 

“Ethan?!” 

Mark finally parked in Ethan’s driveway. He rushed up into the unlocked front door and into the bathroom.

Ethan was lying fully clothed in the bathtub, the bath water completely red from his blood. Ethan was still (barely) conscious, but completely unresponsive. 

Mark moved him out of the bathtub, the dying boy slumping limply over his shoulders. Mark grabbed a spare shirt that was on the ground and used it as a medical device. He used it to tie around Ethan’s wrists, constantly applying pressure. Ethan remained unresponsive. 

The paramedics finally arrived, hoisting Ethan onto a stretcher and wheeling him into the ambulance. Mark was offered a ride to the hospital with the medical workers, and he gladly agreed.

  
  
  
  


Ethan woke up around two days after Mark rescued him. Ethan immediately assumed that he had just failed another suicide attempt and that the hotline somehow tracked his location, or managed to coax him into giving it to them whilst he was completely delirious. 

But he was beyond confused when he overheard Mark talking to Amy, unaware that Ethan was awake, about how he didn’t know what would have happened if he didn’t pretend to be the hotline operator. 

What?

Oh.

_ Oh no. _

Ethan proceeded to vomit into a nearby bucket at the realization that Mark, his best friend, now knew everything he never wanted any of his friends to know. 

A doctor rushed in and assisted Ethan with sitting up. 

Finally, after a few minutes of intense gagging, Ethan sat up and looked around the room tearfully. 

The doctor left the room, said something to Mark and Amy, who were seated outside the room) and left. Mark and Amy entered the room. 

Ethan’s stomach twisted. 

“Hi, Ethan,” Mark greeted the now pale boy. Ethan waved back in response, still too stunned to speak. 

“How are you feeling?” Amy asked. Ethan gave a thumbs up in response. Mark sort of awkwardly asked Amy to leave the room, which she kindly did, and Mark sat down next to Ethan on the hospital bed. 

“Listen, I had no idea you felt this way. I am so sorry that you felt too embarrassed to say anything before, and I just want you to know that there is help. Whether it be me, or Amy, or a professional, or anyone trustworthy. I just don’t want to lose you, Ethan,” Mark teared up a bit at his own words. 

Ethan finally said something.

“Okay.” 

Mark hugged Ethan with as much force as he could without hurting him. He knew it would be rocky and bumpy, trying to recover. But at least this was a start. 

  
  



End file.
